Five Times Lord Coward Screamed
by Anneka Neko
Summary: ...and one time he didn't. Blackwood/Coward SLASH.
1. trips

Authoress' Notes:

Okay, hopefully this is a multi-chap fic I'll actually _finish_. I've got the whole thing planned out, and they're all pretty simple ideas, so I'm thinking yes.

Anyways, you know the formula. Five chapters of girly shrieks, and one of silence. Woot!

This chapter is my humorous slant on Blackwood and Coward's first meeting. Since it's humorous, my style's a little different from the one you guys have been complimenting me on, which makes me nervous. If you don't like this style, don't worry-- some of this fic will be completely serious, and in the style you know and love.

Disclaimer: If I owned it, the gay would be _way_ more obvious.

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***Trips*  
**---

Lord Coward, newly appointed Secretary of State for the Home Department, was hurrying up the stairs towards his brand new office, handsome leather shoes pounding down onto the pristine white marble, when he tripped. Now, normally, tripping is nothing to be ashamed of if, as he was sure was the case on this particular day, nobody is there to see it. You simply stand, dust yourself off, feel a little silly, and carry on with your day.

When the tripping occurs halfway up an impressively long flight of hard marble steps, however... well, that _is_ a problem. As he rolled down the stairs, hitting every bit of sensitive flesh against the hard stone (and really, did he have to roll _all_ the way down?), Lord Coward let out a sound many would describe as a shriek, but which he would have described as a manly yell of surprise and pain, and ended up in a crumpled, cursing heap at the bottom. Sure he'd sprained an ankle at the very least, and dreading the bruises that would show up tomorrow morning, Coward sat up, and found himself staring at a pair of black-clad legs. Following those legs up a sturdy torso in a long black coat, he found himself looking into the eyes of an uncommonly handsome man, one whose face was vaguely familiar.

The man, raising an eyebrow, spoke, and Coward couldn't help but notice an oddly shaped front tooth. "Are you all right?" The voice, together with the tooth, connected with the face in Coward's brain and produced a name.

"L-Lord Blackwood," he stammered, flushing. "Er, yes. I just... um, well..."

"Tripped," Blackwood supplied, smirking slightly. He extended a hand, and Coward, thinking he'd rather melt into the floor and disappear than endure the inevitable teasing, took it. As he stood, he hissed slightly. Yup, that was a sprain, all right. Blackwood reached out a hand to steady him, and Coward blushed even harder. Could he _possibly_ look any more foolish right now?

Opening his mouth to thank the man properly, Coward met his eyes, and the words died on his lips. Blackwood's eyes, this close, had the most unusual green coloring, with fascinating hazel flecks throughout. As Blackwood spoke, Coward found his eyes drawn uncontrollably to the man's lips, except for when they flickered back up to that entrancing gaze.

Realizing he was staring at the man who had just helped him up, and who was now looking at him politely, waiting for a response, Coward flushed again. "Er, well, thank you for helping me up, my Lord. If you'll excuse me," and he hurried up the stairs, making it all the way to the top this time.

Glancing back, Coward saw Lord Blackwood giving him a very odd look, almost satisfied in a way, before he turned away. As he entered his office, Coward found he was trembling slightly. From his fall, of course. Not to mention the sheer _embarrassment_ of looking like such a fool in front of a colleague.

That was totally it.

---

Oh, Coward. (That seems to be my mantra for these fics, doesn't it?) So easily flustered. Here we see another dimension of my interpretation of their characters. Coward seems like he'd be so accident-prone, and Blackwood seems like he'd just LOL at Coward's expense, so long as it didn't mess up his plans or his hair. XD

Please review!


	2. Intruder

Authoress' Notes:

Well, this time Starbucks saved my writing! I feel like it's a bad thing that my best writing happens when I pay too much for unhealthy food. Ah well. The sacrifices I make for the craft!

This piece would take place... oh, I don't know. Three weeks after the last chapter? Maybe? Early enough in their relationship that Coward's still feeling like an idiot at every turn.

Oh, and B/C buddy? I've decided to name the raven Gregory. It just works. The name might never actually appear in any of my pieces, but in my heart, he's Gregory. 8D

Disclaimer: If I owned it, the gay would be _way_ more obvious.

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**Intruder**

---

It was the end of a long, hard day, and Lord Coward was more than ready to go home. A single report was all that stood between him and freedom, but it was a spectacularly boring report, and his mind was wandering, so he decided to take a break. He stood at his window, staring out across the city as dusk fell, and watched with a mild sort of interest as a large black bird fluttered down to sit on his windowsill. A raven, and a large one at that-- unusual enough to take note of, but hardly something he'd never seen before. With a small sigh, that of a man thoroughly bored by a job he'd once viewed with awe (had that really been mere weeks ago?), Coward allowed his eyes to slide closed. What he wouldn't give for a good dinner right now!

"Good evening, Lord Coward."

With a startled cry, perhaps a bit higher-pitched than he would have liked, Coward spun around to confront the intruder. "Lord Blackwood!" he sputtered, sounding a bit more relieved than was dignified. "How did you get in?"

An eyebrow went up. "The door." Coward flushed. Well _of course_ Blackwood had come in through the door, but that was hardly the real question, was it? He felt himself flush, if possible, even more at Blackwood's next words. "Have you recovered from your accident when we last met, my lord?"

"Y-yes. Yes, I have," Coward answered defiantly, and God above, did the man _have_ to smirk like that? His face already felt like it was on fire.

"Good. I'm glad to hear it," Blackwood replied. "Now, Lord Coward, I actually came here to ask a favor of you."

"Of... me?" Coward was baffled. What was this man unable to do that he, Coward, was able to grant?

"Yes," and now a pleasant, friendly smile appeared on the man's face. It was a charming smile, definitely, but it made him look infinitely more dangerous. Coward felt his breath hitch (from fear, obviously). "I belong to an... exclusive club, of sorts, and I wondered if you would care to dine with me tonight. I think you would be well suited to membership, and I thought we could discuss the matter in more civilized settings."

What could he say? "I would be honored, my Lord. Might I ask where you had in mind?"

"The Café Royal? It's a particular favorite of mine."

Coward nodded. He'd only been there two or three times, but the food had always been quite good. "That would be fine with me." He tidied his desk for the evening, deciding to put that final report off until the next day-- he doubted he would have gotten any more done on it this evening in any case-- and the two men set out into the gathering darkness.

"Tell me, Lord Blackwood, to what club did you earlier--" Coward's inquiry was cut off by another sound many might describe as a shriek, but which he would have described as a virile and heroic shout of surprise. "_What was that_?" he asked (or was it "screamed"?), perhaps a little more hysterically than he ought to have.

"I believe it was a raven," Blackwood replied, humor evident in his voice. "You were saying, my lord?"

The men continued down the street, one more amused, one more embarrassed, than ever, as the raven flew overheard, silently marking their progress.

---

My theory? Café Royal is _the_ hot date night for closeted gay Victorian men.

So, you got a treat-- _three_ screams in this chapter! This, I think, will be the last of the humorous chapters (though I'm not positive). I definitely plan to fast-foward a bit in their relationship in the next chapter, so if you haven't already, now might be a good time to check up on my other B/C pieces. That's partially a shameless plug, I'll grant you, but I plan to set the next chapter immediately after one of the other pieces (I won't tell which! You'll just have to read them all! :D), so yeah.

Please review!


	3. Master

Authoress' Notes:

**Last warning**: you _can_ read this chapter without first reading my oneshot "Blood", but it will make _so_ much more sense, both in terms of actual events and the moods and motivations of the two characters, if you go read "Blood" first. This chapter will still be here. I promise. (Seriously-- do yourself a favor and get the context.)

Wow. I started this chapter with a basic plan of events, and then, in media res, Blackwood hijacked the plot. I'll tell you what changed at the end, shall I? That way you don't get spoilers. I'll say this, though. As the author, you rarely get the "WTF BRILLIANCE" moments the readers get, but I actually got one of those today, which is insanely exciting.

I feel like doing a dedication. This one's for my official B/C buddy, and also for my special favorite reviewer: Bloody-Joker, who's left me a review on _every_ B/C piece I've done thus far. I appreciate all reviews, of course, but these are the people leaving me lovely reviews (and/or tolerating my crazy B/C rants, as the case may be) on almost a daily basis, so I feel like I have a bond with them. You know what guys? You get stickers.

Disclaimer: If I owned it, the gay would be _way_ more obvious.

---

**Master**

---

Lord Coward stood in the shadows by the large window, staring out into the storm. The rain fell thick and heavy against the glass, and inside the dark, empty hallway the dull pounding of the weather outside echoed loudly. Coward let out a troubled breath.

"Lord Coward."

He was waiting for it, he'd _known_ this would happen, but his instinctive reaction was still the same. He jumped, letting out an impressive shout of surprise (or a shrill yelp, one of the two) and turned. He knew, he'd known for _days_, who it would be when this moment finally came, but he still felt a stab of fear when he met the dark green eyes locked onto his. "Lord Blackwood," he replied, firmly forcing his voice to remain steady. "How can I help you?"

Blackwood's eyes narrowed slightly. "Don't play with me, Coward," he murmured menacingly. "You know exactly why I'm here." Coward swallowed as Blackwood moved forward, backing him into a corner, trapping him in the huge, dusty curtains, a faded blue that had once been majestic but which now hung limp and dead, that framed the rain-spattered window. "You've been avoiding me, Coward," Blackwood hissed.

His eyes widening at the anger he heard in Blackwood's voice, Coward shook his head frantically. "No, my Lord," he lied. Of _course_ he'd been avoiding Blackwood-- the last time they'd been alone together, Blackwood had ordered him to sacrifice his own _blood_, and God, that _tongue_ was still haunting his thoughts, and who _wouldn't_ try to distance themselves from a situation like that? Coward was backing up without realizing it, and he bit his lip to cover his cry of pain as his head hit the window sharply.

"Careful, Coward," Blackwood said, though his eyes hardly looked concerned. "You'll be no use to me if you crack your head open." Coward flushed angrily (though the fact that Blackwood's body was now uncomfortably close to his own somewhat distracted him from his anger). Yes, because being of _use_ to Blackwood was his driving purpose in life. He opened his mouth angrily, ready to say something to that effect, but the lips that suddenly bruised his made that rather difficult.

Coward's brain was wiped blank for a single moment, and then, as he felt Blackwood's tongue on his, the panic took over. He struggled to push Blackwood away, but Blackwood moved his hand to Coward's throat, and Coward froze, lungs working furiously for air. As Blackwood's grip tightened and his mouth stayed on Coward's, Coward began to hear a ringing in his ears, and desperately tried to kick Blackwood away from him, but there were lights flashing in his eyes, and he couldn't tell if some of it was lightning from the storm or not, because his mind was getting fuzzy and his eyes weren't working anymore, and oh _God_ he needed air so badly, just one breath of air, _please_...

And suddenly he was gasping in huge gulps of air, and his mind started working again, and he was staring, wide-eyed, at Blackwood, who was smiling. "You see, Coward?" he was saying softly. "I could kill you, so easily, and there's nothing you can do about it-- but I can also bring you back to life." Heart hammering, Coward listened with a certain sense of detachment, a feeling of watching himself. He had the sinking feeling that comes with the long-overdue realization of a fact far simpler than it should have been. "It's not that I imagine myself greater than you," Blackwood continued. "It's not that I _fancy_ myself the master of our little game here. It's that I _am_." He leaned forward to whisper against Coward's ear, and Coward felt himself shivering at the way Blackwood's lips lightly brushed his skin. "I'm willing to be a kind master, Coward. I'm willing to be forgiving, gentle. I'm willing to give you certain incentives. But I am _not_," he growled, crushing against Coward so he could feel the cold, smooth glass against the back of his coat, "willing to tolerate the kind of simple-minded, foolish, _dim-witted lies_ you tried to feed me earlier." With every word, his breath hit Coward's ear harshly, and every tickle of breath weakened Coward's resolve to stand up to this man a little more. "Do you understand me, Coward?"

Coward knew he shouldn't answer, knew he could never come back from giving the answer he wanted to give, but Blackwood's eyes were locked on his again. The authority the man exuded was heady, a feeling of weightless freedom to give the answer Blackwood wanted and be absolved of all responsibility.

"I said, do you understand me?"

Coward took a deep, steadying breath, and slid his eyes shut to escape Blackwood's intoxicating gaze.

"No."

---

WHAAAAT? Blackwood was _so_ not supposed to kiss Coward yet! And then, at the end, Coward saying "_no_"? Where did _that_ come from? I'm so serious, because that was _epically_ not a part of my plan. I guess my inner Coward has way more balls than I'd originally realized. Literally, I was maybe ten lines before that moment thinking he'd say "yes", _and then he says "no"?_

Conveniently enough, though, this barely changes my plans for the next chapter. Suffice it to say that the next chapter's been bumped from taking place a matter of years after this one to taking place a matter of hours or _minutes _after this one. B/C buddy, we might need a talk to make sure I'm not going crazy with this timeline here. XD

Oh, and near the end there? Basically, I feel like looking into Blackwood's eyes when he wants you to do something would feel like the Imperius curse from _Harry Potter_. Dreamy, floating, your mind wiped blank, while Blackwood whispers that it's totally the right thing to do, and it _feels _like the right thing to do, because Blackwood wants you to.

Please review!


	4. Humiliation

Authoress' Notes:

...good Lord! Is this really... _my_ story? I mean I know I'm a sadistic sort of bitch, but _yeesh_ I was mean to Coward! -shuffle feet- This is the closest I've ever come to writing true porn, so I hope it doesn't disappoint!

Guh, way to delete my notes, _OpenOffice_! -stab-

Warnings: rape, slight grossness

Disclaimer: If I owned it, the gay would be _way_ more obvious.

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**Humiliation**

---

"...'no'?"

Lord Coward swallowed, standing up as straight as he could, shoved as he was against the cold, dark window. "No," he repeated, and it might have sounded more impressive if his voice hadn't quivered, but Lord Blackwood's face was inches from his own, and the look of fury in those eyes was terrifying.

Blackwood exhaled heavily. "'No,'" he repeated slowly, so slowly, as though considering every sound of the offensive word. His eyes flickered away, and it seemed like his expression softened for a moment. "I gave you the chance, Coward," he said, almost regretfully. "I gave you the chance, and you refused." His eyes snapped back up to Coward's, and they were alive again, dancing with energy, and Coward should have seen the attack coming, but it was impossible to look away, because those eyes were so entrancing, so perfect, so commanding. The first warning he had was the dizzying jolt that shook him as he hit the floor, and then Blackwood was on him, ripping his coat away within moments. Coward kicked out, trying to throw Blackwood off of him, but Blackwood slammed Coward's head into the floor again, and the world went black.

When he came to (it couldn't have been more than a few minutes later), Coward found himself shirtless, lying face-down by what appeared to be the same window, with the weight of two knees pressing into his lower back. The feel of warm hands putting cold metal around his wrists and the clinking sound of chains told him that Blackwood was putting him in handcuffs, and wait-- _handcuffs_? Coward tried to move his hands down to push himself up off of the ground, and yes, those were, indeed, handcuffs.

"Blackwood?" he asked, feeling his panic rise. There was no reply. "Blackwood! What are you doing?" A heavy blow sent his face crashing into the floor and made his ears ring, and Coward was pretty sure his nose was broken, because _God_ it had never hurt this much in his life, and was that _blood_ in his mouth?

He tried to roll over, hoping to set Blackwood off balance, but the other man shoved him back to the floor, grinding his already-pained face into the polished marble, and now Blackwood was speaking, and Coward tried to quiet his own breathing, made loud by the blood in his throat, because Blackwood's voice was almost to low for him to catch. "I'm willing to be merciful, Coward," he murmured. "I know you don't want this to happen." Coward shivered violently. He wasn't actually sure exactly where Blackwood was going with this, but he had a fairly good idea. "_I_ don't want to do this to you, Coward," Blackwood continued, "but if you won't submit to me, if you won't _give_ yourself to me, you leave me no choice but to _take_ you."

Coward felt his panic increasing exponentially, and his breathing was coming in shorter and sharper pants. As he felt Blackwood's hand move around to the front of his trousers, felt the man _rubbing_ him, and God, what was the man _thinking_, what had come over him, please let him _stop_,he forsook his dignity completely and began to struggle wildly against the man, straining with all of his might to escape the handcuffs, roll over, rise up, do _something_ other than lie here and _let_ this happen, and he began to shout, pleas for this to end, but to no avail. As he felt Blackwood's gloved fingers slowly begin to work at the fastening on his trousers, he felt a burning, lurching nausea suddenly appear in his gut, and, as he felt Blackwood's fingers slip under the fabric, his stomach gave a violent spasm. Next thing Coward knew, he had the burning taste of vomit in his mouth, and Blackwood was chuckling, low and rumbling. "Weak stomach, Coward?" Blackwood asked, fingers sending reluctant sparks of pleasure through Coward's body.

"You bastard," Coward spat. To his astonishment, he felt Blackwood's weight lift off of him, but then Blackwood flipped him over violently, and Coward felt his hair soaking up the blood and vomit from the floor, and why was he thinking about his _hair_ at a time like this, but there was no time to dwell on it, because Blackwood was speaking again.

"Insolence, Coward?" he growled, and Coward had never seen him so angry, or so terrifying. "I was willing to show you _mercy_, and you _insult_ me?" He stood, hauling Coward to his knees, and Coward was already regretting his moment of defiance more than he'd ever regretted anything in his life. His stomach began churning uneasily as he watched Blackwood unfastening his own trousers, and he should have used the opportunity to run, but if he ran, Blackwood might hurt him again, and he didn't want any more of that, and _what_ was Blackwood standing so close to his face for, and why had he taken his _trousers_ off? And oh _God_, was Blackwood... _aroused_?

Coward still had no idea what Blackwood was doing when the still-gloved hands grabbed his head, but a moment later, he was more panicked, humiliated, scared and angry than he had ever been in his life. He tried to shout, scream, _something_, but his mouth was full to bursting, and it hurt so _much_ when Blackwood thrust into him, and Coward felt his eyes prickling with tears. He tried to hold them back, but it was just too much, too much pain, too much humiliation, and the feeling of Blackwood's orgasm sent tears pouring down Coward's cheeks.

As Blackwood stepped back, Coward saw the blood from his mouth coating him, and felt his gorge rise again. Losing his balance, hands behind his back as they were, Coward collapsed onto his side, vomiting up semen, blood and bile. He struggled to compose himself, but the tears wouldn't stop, and snot was dripping down his face to join the vomit on the floor. He wished Blackwood would just leave him, but the man was crouching down before him, watching him silently. Those eyes were blank again, none of the anger of a few minutes before visible, and Coward realized dully that Blackwood had won. There was no way to fight back against a man who could do so much, and feel nothing.

"Leave me!" Coward choked out through his tears. "I'm as broken as I'll ever be-- what more do you _want_?" He dropped his eyes from Blackwood's, and they fell on the pool of vomit. With a weary feeling, he rolled over to heave again, but there was nothing left in his stomach, and only a little blood trickled out. It hurt, it hurt _so much_, and Coward wondered if he would ever stop hurting after today, but the humiliation was even worse than the pain, because it was _inside_ of him, pulsing through his body, the knowledge that he had just _let_ this happen.

Coward started as he felt a hand gently touch his back. As the hand began to rub gentle circles on his back, the way his mother used to comfort him after a nightmare as a child, he heard the click of its mate turning a key. As the handcuffs slid from his wrists, the hand moved down to his shoulder, lifting him up into a warm, caring embrace.

"I'm sorry, Coward," Blackwood murmured soothingly, still rubbing the trembling back. "You know I didn't want to do that, but I had to." Coward, letting himself slowly relax against the steady, oddly comforting figure, let out a sound that was meant to be a disbelieving laugh, but which somehow came out as more of a sob. "Truly," Blackwood added. "My gifts are not freely given to me; I have a responsibility to those lower, less fortunate than myself, a responsibility to teach, to correct. Surely you see this, Coward." He didn't see it, he didn't believe it, but what other explanation could there be? How could this man, who had so recently turned his stomach and brought him to tears, comfort him and make him feel so safe if this _wasn't_ what was meant to happen? The Lord above never allowed his children to suffer without purpose, this much he knew, so there must have _been_ a purpose in his ordeal. Perhaps that purpose was to open his eyes to the truths Lord Blackwood spoke?

Almost without realizing it, he nodded, once, twice, and Blackwood's voice sounded pleased. "Good," he said encouragingly. "Now, my Lord, what would you say to some help on your way home? I'm sure a nice cup of tea wouldn't go amiss either."

Hours later, as Coward huddled in his bed, blankets drawn up far above his head, he shook. Blackwood had helped him home, true to his word, and seen him settled. He had bathed, he had finished three pots of tea, and he had eaten as much as he could hold down. He should have been well on the road to recovery.

But his mouth still tasted sour.

---

Eeek, I'm really nervous to hear you guys' opinions! Definitely review this time, if you haven't been all along, and tell me if it was okay? The only way I'll get better is if you tell me what worked and what didn't. ...I hope it wasn't too horrible. I'm sorry if it was!

Please (please _please_) review!


	5. Damned

Authoress' Notes:

On the one hand, if you haven't seen the movie, this piece won't make too much sense. On the other, if you haven't seen the movie, what the hell are you _doing_ here? Go see the movie!

There's a huge gap between this and the last chapter, and I want it noted that I'm aware of that. I plan to go back and write some more pieces that will fill in the gap, and help explain Coward's evolution (I'm already working on some) from rape victim to worshipful lackey (it'll be difficult to properly write, but trust me-- every piece I write on Coward fits into my single continuity), so patience! I needed to make the jump here, 'cause my _God_ I can't write a story about Coward screaming without this scene!

Disclaimer: If I owned it, the gay would be _way_ more obvious.

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**Damned**

---

Lord Coward fought his way out of the crowd of angry lords, flushed and breathing hard. His fellows in the plot-- the few intelligent enough to swear themselves to the cause-- were shouting as an angry mob rose up, the stately old gentlemen of a few minutes before replaced by creatures possessed, fighting back against an attempt on their lives. As he slipped through the door one of his allies had managed to unchain in a bid for freedom, Coward drowned out the ruckus behind him, and focused on a single thought: Lord Blackwood.

He knew where the door his Lord had taken led, of course-- the sewers-- and so he turned his frantic, hurried steps towards the outside, and another entrance into the tunnels. As he burst out of the doors, the men outside, unaware of what was to have happened-- _should_ have happened_-- _moments before, let him through, bewildered. He paid them no attention, running towards the nearest tunnel, but a loud sound from over the river drew his eyes.

A pair of figures, barely recognizable at this distance, battled on the partially constructed bridge, and Coward's heart leapt in panic to see his Lord nearly fall. What was he doing? Holmes kicked _something_ off of the bridge, and Blackwood fell instantly, nearly sliding off of the platform himself. Coward's wordless shout startled the men around him, and a number of them turned to follow his eyes to the bridge.

Blackwood was slipping, and Coward knew he should run for the bridge, climb up there, _anything_, but for some reason he couldn't move. It felt as though, if he let his eyes off of Blackwood for even a single moment, his Lord might fall, and even Christ didn't rise from the grave _twice_. And yes, he should have had faith in his Lord's abilities, but he had seen the look in Blackwood's eyes when the twelfth chime struck, and the lords remained standing. Blackwood had looked lost, for a single second. That moment, that look, had scared Coward more than he'd thought possible at this point, so close to their victory, and now, watching his Lord struggle to hold out against gravity, Coward knew he'd been a fool to think that the seemingly limitless, seductive power was _all_ there was to Lord Blackwood. He was seeing his Lord's oft-invisible vulnerability, now more than ever before, and, even in the midst of his mind-numbing terror, Coward found he loved Blackwood all the more for it.

He faintly heard his Lord shout something, though he wasn't sure exactly what, and a second later, Coward felt his heart stop, as the rope and its weight plunged downwards. He cried out again, but somehow, inexplicably, impossibly, the rope was falling with a splash into the river, while Blackwood was still hanging on to the bridge, pulling himself up. Coward felt his lips curve into a smile, and he laughed quietly, breathlessly, relieved beyond words--

--and then the crane broke.

Coward's smile was quickly overtaken by an open-mouthed gape of disbelief. No! Blackwood had escaped death _again_-- and now he was falling! How could this happen?

As the distant body bounced and twirled on its way down, progress halted horribly suddenly by the chains above it, Coward was vaguely aware that he was screaming, but he hadn't a clue what he was actually saying. He was distantly aware of a crowd appearing around him, suddenly, more suddenly than seemed possible, or maybe Coward's mind was just running slowly, because there were handcuffs on his wrists now, and all Coward knew now was the raw pain in his throat and the burning tears in his eyes.

-

Coward wasn't sure how long he had been in his cell. He was served meals regularly (and he was sure a prisoner had never been served so handsomely), but he lacked all appetite, and drank only enough to wash the blood away from his cracked lips. He had a window, by which to mark the passing days and nights, but he barely stirred to look at it. He held out one slim, pathetic hope-- that somehow, his Lord had managed to escape again. Until he knew his Lord was truly gone, he refused to give up hope altogether, but he felt his sanity slipping away day by day. Or maybe he'd always been insane-- the difference seemed so unimportant now.

The sound of approaching footsteps made him look up. A tall figure, in a long black coat, was coming through the darkness, and for an instant he allowed himself to hope. Then Sherlock Holmes stepped out of the shadowed corridor.

"Lord Coward," he greeted the prisoner with a polite nod. Coward stared dully at him. He felt a faint stirring of anger at this man, but he lacked the energy to care very much.

"What do you want, Holmes?" and his voice, rasping and hoarse from disuse, cracked, and he tasted again the blood in his throat.

Holmes gave him an odd look, one that Coward felt prickling on his mind, as though Holmes had opened his skull and were examining his brain. The man opened his mouth, closed it, and then spoke. "Blackwood's dead, Coward. I saw his body." He paused, then took in a pronounced breath. "He's not coming back."

Discipline and a refusal to show weakness in front of this man kept Coward's face as calm as was possible, but he felt as though he was crumbling inside. A harsh, aching burn was in his throat, and his eyes prickled and stung with tears, but Coward swallowed resolutely. "He rose once before," he answered defiantly. "Who's to say he won't do it again?"

Holmes sighed, giving him a pitying look. "He's gone," he said softly, in a strangely gentle voice. Coward wanted to shout, to tell him that it wasn't true, but the lump in his throat was too large, and he felt strangely dizzy, and he just couldn't form the words. He glared silently at Holmes, swallowing repeatedly to try to get rid of the feeling in his throat, but it was just getting worse and his vision got blurrier, and he was _damned _if he was going to _cry _in front of this man.

But, he decided, as he turned away from Holmes to hide the tears he couldn't stop, he'd been damned for a long time, now.

---

Phweee, I hope you liked it! This is the chapter that originally inspired this entire fic. Also, take heart-- I have a fairly concrete plan for the next (and final) chapter, so it shouldn't be too long before I update!

Also, if you were reading this, thinking, "Gee, Holmes seems kind of weirdly kind here," there's a reason for that-- I had a Plot Raven (fandom-specific plot bunny)! I'm not totally sure exactly how things will go down, but remember in that one scene with Coward, Standish and Sir Thomas, how it looked like Coward was checking Holmes out, and Holmes was giving him funny looks? Yeah. Don't worry-- B/C is still the main focus, but I like the idea of a side thing, you know?

In other news, I turn 19 on Saturday! 8D Feel free to wish me a happy birthday!

Please review!


	6. Into Your Hands

Authoress' Notes:

My Western Civilization teacher just described people selling all their goods in the 1800s to go wait for Jesus to come back: "He stood them up." He also just described Pat Robertson's theories on Haiti, Katrina, etc. as myths, in the scholarly sense. Pffffft he wins at life. XD (Are you guys donating to Haiti, by the way? I'm waiting until I get money for next month, as I'm epically broke just now, but we should all be trying to help!)

_Any_ways! Here it is-- the last chapter! I'm so excited! (I'm updating two at once, so make sure you didn't miss chapter five!) I hope you've enjoyed the journey, and, again-- this is (hopefully) far from my last B/C story. I have at least one or two more in the works, and hopefully I'll get more inspiration as time goes on. Already, these have been the most productive couple of weeks in my life, and I love every one of you reviewers. Whenever I get a review, I literally sit there giggling madly, scarcely able to believe people like me so much. Reviews are like crack, basically.

B/C buddy, just for you, I made a minor character named "Nicholas." 8D

Disclaimer: If I owned it, the gay would be _way_ more obvious.

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**Into Your Hands**

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Lord Coward had lived in this cell for months, now. He had grudgingly begun to take food, to avoid the guards making good on their threats to force-feed him, and he occasionally deigned to respond to the morning guard's idle chatter (he was a naïve young man named Nicholas, and seemed determined to find the good in Coward's black soul), but he still felt as dead and empty as if it had been his own body hanging from that chain. The tears (as ashamed as he was to admit there had been any) had long since stopped, and the urge to scream at the mention of Lord Blackwood's name had dissipated.

That didn't mean Coward forgot.

Throughout his trial (and it was a showy affair, if ever there was), he stared blankly ahead, willing himself not to hear the things that were said about his Lord, but he couldn't help it.

"...plotted with Blackwood to kill the other members of Parliament..."

"...complicit in Blackwood's murder of five innocent girls..."

"...Blackwood's orders..."

"...Blackwood's plot..."

Blackwood, Blackwood, Blackwood, stop it, _stop it_!

He'd expected the verdict, of course-- how could they _not_ find him guilty, when he denied nothing? He declined his final request-- how could they grant his wish, when he for whom he wished was long since buried? His final night on this earth was a restless one, punctuated by dreams and nightmares. Lord Blackwood walked again that night, and Coward wanted so dearly to touch him, if only for a moment, but his Lord was always slightly out of reach. He cried out in frustration and anguish, reaching for his Lord, and found himself sitting in the small, uncomfortable bed, alone. With a sigh, he lay back down on the bed, and spent the rest of the night staring through the small, barred window at the moon.

The next morning, Coward stood silently as his name was read, and his crimes enumerated. "Treason" indeed-- his fellows had abandoned their vows to Blackwood, and here he stood, the only one true to his promises of devotion, and they _dared_ accuse _him_ of treason? But he would soon be at his Lord's right hand, and they would see the error of their ways too late.

He was led to the platform, and they asked for his last words. He drew in a breath, and closed his eyes. "Into your hands, my Lord," he muttered under his breath.

The hood came down over his head. _I commend my spirit, yours to do with as you please._ The rope was placed around his neck. _Now and forever_.

The platform collapsed, and the body fell silently, going still almost immediately.

_Amen_.

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I hope you enjoyed it! I decided it'd be fitting to have Coward do a little Biblical thing there, at the very end. I do _not_, however, want to suggest Coward sees himself as Jesus (for those who might be confused, Jesus' last words translate "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit" in the gospel of Luke). It's all about Blackwood, at this point.

For those of you who have me on story alert (ILU!), now would be the time to either switch to author alert, or start stalking me (either way). I'll definitely be carrying on with these characters, but this particular piece is done.

Thanks so much for reading all this time, and please review!


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